


The One Left Behind

by ALovelyDeath



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Birthdays, F/M, Gift Fic, I didn't plan for this to happen, Possibly OOC, an unintentional birthday fic for the queen, this ended up way less shippy and way longer than I planned, which coincidentally involves birthdays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 05:43:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4089112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALovelyDeath/pseuds/ALovelyDeath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's always the one being left behind, but she'll continue to walk alone if that's what it takes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Left Behind

**Author's Note:**

> For the lovely teanxiety on tumblr!

 

When she opens her eyes, lips still pressed against his calloused palm, her eyes meet his. His grey eyes are filled with shock, and behind that a glimpse of pity and sadness. Lowering herself back to rest on her heels she releases his houndstooth tie. When the first knots of embarrassment begin to make itself known in her stomach she turns away to quickly compose herself and remove any traces of emotion that lingers and would give away the hurt she feels.

“It’s really like you, to be honest.” She says quietly. “Really like you.” His hand still clutches her shoulder, too tight. She doesn’t say anything, just steps back. His hand releases her shoulder immediately. She glances up, long enough to see that he’s still in shock.

“Let’s go.”

She doesn’t bother to check if he’s following. He’ll show up eventually. They did arrive in his car after all. And he very well wouldn’t leave her stranded. He’s too kind-hearted for that, even though she knows she frustrates him.

The sun is just beginning to set, painting the sky with brilliant golds, vibrant reds, and fiery oranges. A slight chill in the air reminds Akira of the changing seasons, and she lets the breeze on her back guide her to the car. Passing gravestone after gravestone, their shadowy claws extending out, trying to grasp the world of the living once more.

A deserted parking lot, save for Amon’s car, greets her as Akira rounds the final corner in the path. Alone her heels sound frighteningly loud as they clack across the parking lot. The sleek black car is locked of course, but she doesn’t mind. It’s a nice night, and who knows how many more nights like this there will be when the seasons change.

As she’s become accustomed to doing, she neatly compartmentalizes her emotions away into a recess of her mind for now. She doesn’t want to think about what just happened, what was racing through her mind when, on impulse, she yanked his tie and stretched up to press her lips to his. When it comes to masking her emotions she’s an expert. She doesn’t want to think about the feel of his palm against her lips, her surprise, his shock and _pity_.

What was she trying to prove? That she wasn’t Harima? All she did was prove that she was a fumbling girl.

There’s an unfamiliar feeling blooming in her chest and it takes a few moments for her to place it. Rejection. She could’ve dealt with anger, or repulsion, but she couldn’t handle the sadness that seemed to permeate the air around him afterwards. There had been a gentle apology in his eyes, and she loathed him for it. Repulsion would’ve been better, easier, to deal with.

She’s weak. So weak. But fear had gripped her in that moment and all she knew was that she couldn’t bear to lose another person close to her. She’s weak, she always has been.

* * *

 

He finally comes back after what feels like hours. The sun has dipped low over the horizon, taking the last lingering bits of warmth with it. All she can make out is his silhouette, black lit against the sun. She wonders where he’s been, what took him so long, but holds her tongue. There’s nothing to say, the first words out of her mouth should be an apology. She’s been hugging herself to keep warm, arms wrapped tightly around herself. It’s not the lack of sun that has her cold though.

Amon unlocks the car with a single click, and Akira wastes no time in climbing in, regretting not having brought her own car today. She had brought it in for servicing earlier and much to her irritation, it hadn’t been ready when the shop said it would be.

He slides in next to her, folding himself in the car that’s always appeared too small for his frame. Then again, she muses, any car would look too small for him.

The car starts with a purr, and perhaps noticing her arms still wrapped tightly around her body, or maybe by his own volitions, his fingers reach to crank up the heat. He lets the car run. His eyebrows are in that familiar furrowed V, and he looks deeply troubled. Maybe even faintly upset. His hands grip the steering wheel too tightly, his knuckles white, bones straining against the skin. After a few minutes of determined staring out the windshield Amon’s hands relax a little and the crease between his brows becomes less prominent.

The drive back to her apartment is silent. The radio on mute, the only sound is the faint thrumming of the heaters. His driving has always annoyed her. He’s too passive, too cautious, expertly handled and smooth, and utterly safe. That’s the thing with him. Always putting others wellbeing before his, and there has never been a time with him where she didn’t feel safe. Even when she hated his guts, even when she was drunk and insisted she was fine to get home herself he had carried her back to her apartment and made sure she was okay. Even then she had felt safe with him. He easily could’ve taken advantage of her, a lesser man would have, but he didn’t.

Hands folded neatly in her lap, she says nothing. There’s nothing to say. There are a hundred things to say, but her mind fumbles over each one and her tongue feels clumsy in her mouth.

When he pulls to a stop outside her apartment building she reaches for her handbag, but makes no move to get out. “Thank you,” she says and in the silence her voice sounds almost deafening. “Have a nice evening.”

“Goodnight” he says as she’s about to close the door. She walks up to her apartment, reminding herself that she is alone, and weak.

* * *

 

That night she doesn’t sleep. She opts for making a new quinque plan instead, staying up into the early morning hours while Maris Stella perches on her desk beside her.

* * *

 

Takizawa is unusually quiet the next day. Unusual, but not surprising given the circumstances. His hair is messier than usual, his tie is crooked, and there are dark bags under his eyes.

Beside her Amon scribbles in his files. Last minute case work. The reason they were all here. They haven’t made eye contact all morning. No words have been exchanged. Not even a request for a cup of coffee or an _Akira could you send me the files?_ Honestly she would’ve welcomed even a request for coffee, it would’ve been something.

Takizawa drags his feet over to his desk with a yawn and falls, rather than sits on his office chair. It nearly rolls out from under him. He manages to catch himself at the last second with a dazed look as if still trying to piece together how he wound up eye level with his desk.

Needing something to keep herself awake after her sleepless night Akira leaves to grab some coffee to give herself a respite. Even after she had fallen asleep that night she had been plagued by nightmares. The reoccurring ones she’s had since the death of her mother.

She pours herself a cup of coffee, stirring in her two sugars and one cream, before preparing Amon’s cup. Two creams, no sugar. It’s not meant to be a gesture of goodwill she tells herself. She's not even sure how he feels. For all she knows he could be under the impression she was embarrassed and didn’t want to talk.

Remembering Takizawa’s sunken face she pours him a cup as well. Two creams, two sugars if she remembers correctly from their academy days. As much as Takizawa is a pain in her ass, she enjoys his company. Their relationship is defined by rivalry, bitterness on his part, and petty arguments and has been almost from the start of their time together at the academy. But somewhere along the way she had developed feelings for him.

“Wahhhh” Takizawa looks shocked as the coffee is thrust in front of his heavy lidded eyes. He takes the cup suspiciously and sniffs it, as if testing it to make sure it hasn’t been poisoned.

She sets the coffee on Amon’s desk, his eyes narrowed and focused totally on the document in front of his face. Perhaps too focused. As she’s sitting back in her chair he blows gently on the steaming coffee and takes a long drag, a contented look spreading across his face. His shoulders slowly relax.

Swirling the dark liquid in the black ceramic cup Akira takes a small sip and gets back to work on the task at hand, finishing up any last minute paperwork that needs to be done on a case in the event she should die tonight.

The coffee seems to bring Takizawa back to life and he spends the rest of the morning prattling on with his usual idiotic enthusiasm.

* * *

 

The last time they make full eye contact before the squall hits the world is silent. Poised on the edge of some great precipice she cannot see. Destined to fall one way or the other. Tonight is the night she and her father will have revenge. Tonight the Owl will fall. The revenge is for her father more than it is for herself. And it’s all led up to this. It’s regrettable he’s not here for the moment.

No one moves. No one speaks. They stand as one. A solid black mass. Working, thinking, moving towards the same goal as one.  A swarm of ants. A single body made up of hundreds. Everyone wears the same face.

She spots him a distance away, an easy enough figure to find even with the monotony of the uniforms. She would recognize that frame anywhere. His lips are moving in a silent prayer and he’s worked the simple cross he always wears out from under the collar of his uniform to run his thumb across it repetitively. Their eyes meet and his gaze is full of reassurance. As if she’s afraid and needs the reassurance. She does. But not for the reason he thinks.

The uneasy feeling in her stomach grows as she looks at him. She hasn’t been able to shake the apprehensive feeling in her gut since this morning. The uneasiness has been sitting in within her all day, slowly gaining energy as the hour loomed closer and closer. At first she tried to tell herself it was just nerves, but she knows. The same way she knew something happened to her father the day he died, a twist in the gut that was impossible to ignore. It’s powerful, more powerful than her intuition has ever been, warning her that something catastrophic will happen. That everything will fall on its head. Not for the first time she prays her intuition is wrong.

* * *

 

After the battle, conversations stop when she enters a room. Voices grow hushed when coworkers pass by. It doesn’t faze her. She doesn’t even blink. Just continues with the task at hand, whether it’s grabbing a cup of coffee or picking up a file. People stare. People talk. They always talk.

She knows what they say about her. Secrets never stay hidden for long, sooner or later they come out in the open. There’s the sad looks, pity. The murmurs of her being a heartless bitch for keeping a stoic front. She takes it all with her head held high. When the loved ones around you drop like flies you learn how to keep the emotions in check, to not let it interfere with your job. She learnt that with her mother. Now, with both Amon and Takizawa gone, she’s perfected it.

She would have to be a moron to not notice the whispering. They accuse her of not caring, judge her for keeping her composure and continuing to do her work, for not mourning the losses.

They all say the same thing when the topic, inevitably loops back to that. “But he was your partner wasn’t he? And you graduated with Takizawa.” It’s always the same thing. Not openly grieving means you don’t grieve at all apparently. Not if others can’t see it. She prefers to grieve at home, in privacy.

Her way of dealing with grief is to pour her soul into her work, always has been. She works harder than ever before. Quinque plans, meetings, paperwork, training with Fueguechi One. It doesn’t matter. Throwing herself into her cases with a vengeance, partner be damned. Late nights ensue, one after the other, until she all but forgets what her bed feels like.

More than ever before Akira understands her father. Understands his suffering and the pain he felt at losing the person who meant the world to him. In the end he had her. There had always been some kind of unspoken understanding between the two of them after her mother had died, an understanding that they would both be there for each other no matter what. Until he died. A death that was Amon’s fault. He took what she had left in the world.

She hadn’t understood exactly what her father had gone through until now. She had grieved, she had lost her mother, yes, but it’s one thing to mourn for a lost mother and another thing to grieve for something you had planned to spend the rest of your life with. She had mourned her mother in her own way. She had been too young to understand the demons her father faced. In her innocence she just knew that her mother was gone and her father was struggling and grieving. She had seen it in the way he walked, his hunched shoulders, slowly closing in on himself until he appeared much smaller and corpselike than before. His appetite and sleeping pattern never fully recovered to what it had been.

And some nights, the days that she has off, when she has nothing to do, she understands why her father nursed a bottle before bed some nights. She’s resorted to it once, regretted it deeply in the morning, but she has to admit it was an effective way to temporarily ease the pain and ensure she sleeps. Even if the covers are cold and the bed feels too big. But the pain will ebb away, if only for a moment. A glimpse in time. The pounding of blood beneath a fresh bruise. Each day will, without fail, flow in to the next.

* * *

 

Akira’s just coming back to the office from her lunch break when she sees her. Takizawa’s mom. She almost bumps into her, Akira’s so lost in thought about reminding herself to visit the hospital before she heads home, that she doesn’t notice her right away. In her hands is a large cardboard box filled to the brim with personal effects that she’s hauling to the parking lot. Evidently she’s just picked up her son’s belongings and it’s taken its toll on the woman.

“Oh Akira I barely noticed you. My apologies.” She says, setting the box down by her feet.

Akira plays idly with the cat charm hanging from her phone. “It’s all right. I wasn’t paying attention.” A small twitch of the lips, not enough to be considered a smile. She’s always liked Takizawa’s mom, and she knows the feeling is mutual. If she had a mother she would want her to be like the woman before her. All smiles and warmth. She thinks of her as like another mom. Something she’s sure the woman wouldn’t mind.

Takizawa’s mom always liked her regardless of what her son said about Akira. Or maybe she knew of Akira’s feelings towards her son. Whatever the case, she always seemed to have a soft spot for the blonde who kept up an almost perpetually distant expression.

She opens the back door to the car and Akira glimpses Takizawa’s sister curled in the backseat. She hugs her knees up to her chest, chin resting on her knees, eyes boring a hole into the back of the driver’s seat. His death has taken its toll on his sister too.

“You look tired.” His mother comments as she shoves the box in, looking as if she wants it away from her as suddenly as possible. “You should be getting more sleep. Being that tired doesn’t look good on a pretty face like yours.”

Akira’s face twitches in an attempt to smile. Whatever expression she manages to make must not have satisfied Takizawa’s mother as she gives her a small frown.

“You should come over for tea sometime. I just tried a new recipe for coffee cake and I could use another’s opinion.” Her words are a little too forced to be nonchalant, not meeting Akira’s eyes as she reaches for her keys that rest on the top of the pile in the box.

Before she knows what she’s doing she agrees for coffee and cake tomorrow at 7.

“It’s too bad. I was hoping Seido…” Then she catches herself, waves her hand as if to discard her previous thought and shuts the car door.

Akira holds up her hand in a wave, eyes fixed on the box in the back seat. Thinking of Amon’s empty desk beside her own. No family member to drop by and pick up his belongings. The small box with his personal effects sits in a back room where it will gather dust. There was no other place for it. He hadn’t left much behind, as if he knew his time was counted and he wanted to leave as little as a trace as possible.

But there had been no personal contacts, no family to get ahold of when he was gone. He had been alone in the world, just like her.

* * *

 

The first partner is always the hardest Arima tells her in the privacy of his office. He’s seated in his chair, leaning forward so his elbows rest on the solid oak desk, fingers creating a steeple, five to five.

Arima may very well be one of the few people she can still tolerate in this office for prolonged periods of time.

“You two will be good for each other.”

She smiles wryly, remembering similar words being spoken soon after being told she was transferring to the 20th ward. She feels the same way toward her new partner as she did when she was told her first partner was to be her father’s last.

Arima slides a file across the desk and she picks it up, flicking it open.

“I believe everything you need to know is in there. I could use your help in shaping him into what we need him to be.”

“Understood. Is there anything else?”

He smiles, and his glasses glint in the sunlight. “Congratulations on your promotion.”

Bowing slightly she turns to leave, her hand closing around the doorknob.

His voice is quieter when he speaks again, and she’s not sure if he means for her to hear. “Go easy on the kid.”

* * *

 

She vows to make his life hell. To make him pay. To extract some form of revenge. Whether or not he remembers his past deeds is beside the point. He had a hand in their death and she wants him to know that. Even if she can’t tell him. Hate pools in her stomach and creeps through her body like a smothering vine. She wants to see him break, and then she will be satisfied. He took the last two people who meant something to her.

She thinks of a thousand ways to break him. She’s never felt so much hate before, but it doesn’t stop her.

But in the end she can’t. The day he introduces himself in the hospital, the day she ran into Takizawa’s mom, she knows she can’t be cruel to him. Her misgivings and seeds of distrust are still there, he is a ghoul after all, but she decides to give him a chance. To see whether she should let the seed of mistrust grow and bloom or if she should squash it beneath her heel. Everyone deserves a chance she reminds herself. He will make for a formidable weapon, she can understand Arima’s interest. When she asks if there’s anything she can bring him, he asks for one thing. A book. Any book. Just something to pass time. It gets boring staring at TV screens he tells her, his two toned hair falling into his eyes, too long. Needing a trim.

She buys him a joke book. Something she will regret later. She brings it for him on her next visit.

He looks different awake. So used to seeing him unconscious that it still surprises her to walk in to his room and find him awake. His eyes are a pale grey and she tries not to think of Amon. She had only dropped by a few times when he was still asleep. Given the workload she had thrust upon herself she didn’t have much time to sit around his bedside while he slept and recovered. Even with his enhanced recovery capacity he had stayed sleeping and out of it for quite a while.

Finally he’s released.

Over time she finds herself giving in to him and his sweet nature. His constant smiles and jokes wear her down over time. Even her constant reprimanding doesn’t serve to deter him. He just tries harder and harder to please her.

He’s too sweet, too kind for her to make his life hell. Too eager to please. Too earnest. She can’t bring herself to make him hurt any more than he already does. She can see the hurt there. The poor boy has been through enough she tells herself. And that’s what he is really. A boy. A hurt boy who hides behind his smile and jokes. Even though he’s only a couple of years younger than she is, he seems younger, more youthful. Maybe it’s his easy smile and soft personality.

However, he has his weaknesses. His kindness and naivety will be the death of him. It probably already has been in a previous life. He’s too sweet. He’s good right down to the core, but he’s dangerously naïve.

Somehow though his struggles become her struggles. And when he tells her about the presence of the chained man he feels at the back of his mind she does her best to quell his fears even if she can only offer things like “maybe you should talk to Arima about that” and “I don’t know what to tell you.”

Eventually Sasaki Haise manages to pull a real smile out of her.

* * *

 

“Papa I get so lost sometimes. I don’t know what to do.”

A bundle of flowers lays across the gravestone that bears her father’s name. Alone, in a cemetery with no other living souls in sight, with only the dead for company, Akira feels like the last person on earth.

She kneels on the earth and brushes her fingers along the stone, sweeping away the gathered dirt. “I wish I wasn’t the one always being left behind you know? First it was ma but that was okay because I had you. Then it was you and I had no one else. Now I’ve lost everyone and I’m the only one left.” She laughs to herself, a bleak, nearly wretched noise. “I guess I shouldn’t complain right? I’m alive after all.”

_Then why do I feel so empty?_

It’s as if some unseen hand has been gradually chipping away her body. Each death she’s had to face has felt like another piece falling away, out of reach. Things are always taken, that’s how life works. It doesn’t work in perfect balance or harmony, life took and rarely gave back.

“You always told me I was strong, but I’m weak. You taught me how to be strong but I’m still weak. And I don’t know what to do anymore, I’m so scared sometimes. I don’t want to be left behind anymore. I’m working on getting stronger.”

After spending a few more minutes lingering around the gravestone she sighs, “I’m going to go visit momma now.” With stiff knees she stands, gathers her things and heads towards her mother’s grave.

In the shadow of a great maple tree is her mother’s grave. The scattered pieces they could find of her laid to rest. Visited less and less by Akira as the years passed, but still enough of a habit that she continues visiting. There is no chatting like there was with her father. She feels that whatever piece of her mother may have resided in this world had left long ago. Now she mostly sweeps around the headstone to keep it tidy and sits in silence for a few moments.

Her mother hadn’t hesitated. She knew her duty. Akira wonders if she had thought about them in her final moments. Her mother had known she would die there, she would’ve had to have known, but she was willing to sacrifice herself and leave behind her daughter and husband. All for the collective good. One dies so countless others can live. It was a fair trade. She wonders if she can argue the same for herself.

Did she think about her daughter waiting for her to come home? Did she have any regrets? Did she regret leaving behind her husband who would have to come back and pick up the pieces? 

It did no good to be mad at ghosts. Dead’s dead, there’s no changing that. She’s all too aware of that. Whatever anger and resentment there had been towards her mother in the first few months after her death had dissipated leaving her at peace with her mother’s sacrifice. That didn’t mean it was fair though. Nothing about this life is fair.

Akira loved her mother terribly, but there was no denying that an unknown wedge had existed between them when her mother was alive. Something told both of them that it would be better for the two of them not to grow too attached. As if they both somehow knew their time together was measured. She loved her mother, what she could remember of her at least.

Gathering up her things once again she sets off to the last batch of graves on her journey. The list of stops she has to make now in the cemetery grows steadily longer and she can’t help but wonder who will be the next tombstone she adds to her list.

She only ever stops by Takizawa’s grave long enough to pay her respects because she’s sure he wouldn’t like her lingering too long. His grave is always littered with bright splashes of flowers from family and friends. “You always said you wanted to be remembered. And don’t worry, you are.” For Takizawa it had been all about the glory, the promotion, wanting to be remembered for something. That mindset had been one of things that drove a rift early in their relationship.

At the final grave she allows herself to linger longer than strictly necessary. There’s a certain irony to this, she thinks to herself standing in front of his grave. An irony she can’t quite place. They had met in this cemetery after all. Without ever knowing his name she had known him as the man who frequented the cemetery almost as much as she did. Once she watched him stand over her father’s grave and give progress reports and now she did the same for him.

No flowers adorn Amon’s grave. Needless to say no family ever stops by. She’s spotted what she assumes to be a few friends from outside of work stop by, but none have ever dropped off flowers. The first few weeks are always the heaviest when it comes to flowers, and his was no exception, but as time passes slowly the flowers dwindle. It’s a pattern she recognizes.

After saying her dues she takes her phone from her pocket. Fingers stiff with the cold that refuses to leave and hangs incessantly at night she works the cat charm off and places it at the foot of his grave.

A memento.

* * *

 

If there’s one thing that’s constant and therefore can always be counted on no matter what, it’s time. Time will always pass by. Because life continues. With or without you. She keeps breathing, keeps going, it’s the only thing she knows how to do. The thought of anything else is unbearable.

“Happy Birthday Mado-san!” Sasaki says, grinning from ear to ear as she takes the lumpy red gift on her desk and sets it on her lap.

Right. Her birthday. She had almost forgotten about it. Sasaki, on the other hand, obviously hadn’t.

She’s never gotten a birthday gift at work before. Hell, Amon had been the first man to ever even give her a gift that wasn’t her father. Sure she got the happy birthday wishes from around the office but never a gift. Surprised she is not, it’s Sasaki after all, and if anyone would get her a birthday gift, it would be him.

Flipping it over she runs her index finger under the cherry red wrapping paper and jerks upward. She takes it off in one piece, crumples it into a tight ball and stows it in her purse for later. Maris Stella would be happy with it, she had a weird habit of tearing and chasing around scraps of paper. Turning it over once more so its front faces her, Akira runs her fingers along the front.

Always the thoughtful one Sasaki has bought her a three thousand piece jigsaw puzzle. A tiny intricate landscape painting. How thoughtful. Not that she expects any less from him.

“You like puzzles right?”

When she looks up his face is worried, eyebrows drawn together in a way so similar to Amon’s that her stomach clenches every time he does it.

She blinks, snapping herself out of whatever train of thought she was heading down. “Yes thank you. It’s perfect.” She sets it beside her bag so she doesn’t forget it.

“I was thinking if you didn’t have any plans later tonight, which I _know_ you don’t because your friend is out of town, we could go back to your place and get a head start. Seeing as how I doubt you’ll let me take you to dinner and buy you a few drinks.” He pauses and the next part comes out all at once, his cheeks flushing pink, “If you’re okay with that of course!”

She finds herself laughing at his enthusiasm and sudden blush at worrying he has crossed a line.

“Just get all your reports done for the day,” the stern glance she sends his way does nothing to dampen his smile, perhaps knowing it was only half-hearted on her part.

“It’ll be a puzzling night that’s for sure!” He quips and isn’t quick enough to evade the smack she places on his upper arm.

* * *

 

It’s the first time Sasaki has ever stepped foot in her apartment. She doesn’t bring much company from work over. While she sets on whipping up a quick dinner for herself Sasaki rubs Maris Stella’s head. Surprisingly Maris Stella tolerates Sasaki’s presence and even massages herself against his leg.

The apartment was her parents. She inherited the small flat after her dad had passed, and she didn’t have the heart to sell it. It was the perfect size, and close enough to work. Besides, she had memories here. She grew up here. One day she knows she’ll let go of it and move out, but for now she’s content.

They eat dinner in relative silence, Maris Stella frolicking joyously in the background with her new scrap ball of wrapping paper.

Once the table has been cleared of their dishes Akira goes to make a pot of coffee, late hour be damned she needs it, while Sasaki breaks open the box, slices the plastic packaging the pieces were contained in and dumps them back in the cardboard.

Hearing a soft groan Akira looks over her shoulder as she reaches for two mugs. Sasaki stands over her table with a look of poorly masked horror on his face as he stares at the small mountain before him.

“I think I severely overestimated what a three thousand piece puzzle would be like.” He murmurs rubbing the back of his neck. He chuckles, “at least it’ll keep us busy.”

“I’m not doing this entire thing alone,” she warns him, handing him his mug and sitting across from him. “You’ll be with this project every step of the way.”

“Really?”

“Consider it a team building exercise.” She blows gently on the hot coffee before taking a cautious sip.

“Whatever you say boss,” he teases. Placing his hands on his thighs, he gives her a mock serious expression. “So where do we start chief?”

“Edges.” The edges were always the most logical place to start. They were neat, orderly, and kept everything in place.

It’s tedious work, but enjoyable in an odd way. It’s been a while since she’s tackled a puzzle this size, but she loves it. The joining of two pieces that were meant to fit together is always satisfying for her. Creating order out of chaos. A picture laid hidden in all these jumbled, ragged edged pieces, and with each piece the picture slowly became clearer. It feels good. She feels like she’s putting her life back together piece by piece.

“I think I would’ve liked to have been a big brother” Sasaki says once the silence drags on just a bit too long for his liking. Akira continues to study the picture on the cardboard box. Trying to determine whether this bit of green is meant to be grass of leaves.

She glances up at him. “I was an only child so I don’t know what having a sibling is like myself.”

“Did you ever wish you had a sister or brother?” There’s a wistfulness in his eyes and voice that she can’t understand.

The answer is immediate, no thinking required on her part. “No.” She knows it was hard enough on her father to raise one child, and considers herself extremely lucky that there wasn’t a sibling to take care of after school while she waited for her dad to get off work.

“It would be nice to have a family,” he concludes, with the same melancholy expression on his face.

She bites her tongue to keep from telling him that families are great, until they die.

By the end of the night, when it’s late and Sasaki finally retires home, neither of them realizing how late it had gotten, not much progress on the puzzle has been made. Scattered piles of different colour groupings, the finished edging. It’ll sit there until it’s finished. It’s not in her way, it’s not as if she entertains much company. There had been company when her mother was still around. After she died Akira and her father didn’t have much company aside from family that would visit occasionally. Her father was considered too odd by those he worked with to really have friends from work over. On the few occasions there had been people from the office over it had been work related. And it wasn’t like her list of friends was impressive.

She flicks off the overhead light in the living room and retires to her bedroom to get ready for bed.  As she settles under the covers she realizes how quickly the months have flown. How quickly time flies. How long would it take for this partner to be taken from her? It didn’t matter, because she was determined to survive. She would continue walking alone if she had to. It was painful, but she had managed this long.

* * *

 

She would’ve missed it entirely had she not almost slipped on it on her way out the door for work. Having caught sight of the baby blue envelope stuck to the bottom of her heel she plucks it off, tucking it away in her purse for later as she hurries to the elevator.

Who would leave her a card by her front door? Questions race through her mind, but she has no time to open it. She has a meeting first thing, and the strange card has to wait.

By the time the meeting is over, the card has slipped her mind. It isn’t until she’s fishing in her purse for her wallet that her hand stumbles across the stiff rectangle. Staring at the mysterious blue envelope she reaches for her lunch receipt blindly. Finger only meeting the cold wood as she slides them across the tabletop. Glancing up she sees Sasaki already at the front with both receipts in his hand, cashier already giving him his change. She tucks the envelope back in her purse as she gets up.

“Consider it a birthday gift,” he says to her as they’re leaving.

“Mhmmm. Fine.” She frowns at the thought of another man who used to pay for her meals when they ate lunch together. Her fingers find the envelope in her purse again, and this time she pulls it out, inspecting it. Nothing was written on the front.

Seeing her preoccupation Sasaki leans towards her, craning his neck to read the envelope. “What’s that?”

“A card I think. I found it on my doorstep this morning.”

“Well, are you going to open it?” He pushes.

“I’m just trying to think of who it’s from.” She shoots him a suspicious glance.

Holding his hands up in surrender Sasaki says, “Don’t look at me.”      

It could be from the elderly woman who lived down the hall. Akira and she sometimes had coffee in the older woman’s flower filled apartment.  

Running her index finger under the crease the envelope comes apart easily. Flipping over the card so she can view the front she finds a very grumpy trio of cats with birthday hats and noisemakers with a cake in front of them staring back at her. One of them bears a striking resemblance to Maris Stella. A small smile crosses her face at the humorous photo. Inside the card there is no name. Just the standard birthday text. And handwritten words scrawled messily on the opposite side. _Happy Birthday_.

Her eyebrows furrow deeper.

“Any name?”

“No.” She murmurs, flipping the card to see if they had written their name on the back. Nothing. She didn’t recognize the handwriting either.

“Well the picture is cat-ulous” Sasaki jokes.

She stares at him so hard he begins to squirm. “What?”

“That was the worst pun yet.” She says bluntly.

The card leaves more questions than answers. There’s a very short list of people she can think of who would do this. And she isn’t entirely convinced it hadn’t been Sasaki. The chicken scratch scrawl wasn’t the woman down the hall either. The elderly lady she sometimes had coffee with had very neat, fluid, handwriting. Nothing like this.

“Maybe you have a secret admirer,” Sasaki suggests, breaking her out of her reverie.         

She steers the conversation back to more case related things as they continue down the street back towards headquarters. She slips the card back into her purse, and every time she reaches in her purse for the rest of the day and her fingers brush the card, she wonders.

* * *

 

“So I found this book yesterday” Sasaki babbles, struggling to be heard over the crowd. “It’s pretty good so far. It’s a historical novel, which I don’t usually do, but I like the author’s style of writing. I’ll have to recommend it to Arima when I’m done.”

As they walk people make sure to give them a wide berth, recognizing the briefcases and coats of investigators.

Suddenly she doesn’t hear Sasaki anymore. His book analysis drops into a black abyss in her mind, and there’s only a dull humming sound in her ear, as if all the noise from the street has been muted by cotton balls. She walks a little faster to see if what she had spied from the corner of her eye was true. Coming to a stop in front of a shop that sold suits she finds a mannequin dressed in a crisp black suit. The edges all razor sharp. Around the neck of the white collared shirt sits a perfectly folded black and white houndstooth tie. It’s a common enough attire. Yet it isn’t at the same time, because no one else she has seen in a suit could pull off that tie the way he did.

“Mado-san?” Sasaki asks quietly, gently tapping her on the shoulder.

She jumps, apologizes for spacing out on him.

He assures her that it’s fine, but asks that they move on. He got a headache from staring in the shop window too long he claims.

Everyone leaves in the end, but maybe, just maybe, Sasaki would stay.

Tearing her eyes away from the mannequin just behind the glass, her mind flits back, without knowing why, to the card with the trio of grumpy cats in party hats and a birthday cake sitting on her bedroom dresser.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I haven't written anything fan-related in over 6 years and this is the first piece of writing I've done in months so I apologize for being a little rusty.


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